


Fires Alight

by cosmicbubble



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fainting, Gen, Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Noct whump, does it count I think it does, noctis has bad solutions to problems, theres some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-17 22:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15471759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicbubble/pseuds/cosmicbubble
Summary: Noctis decides the best way to keep the nightmares away is to stop sleeping entirely.





	Fires Alight

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!! This is my first real contribution to Noct whump which is a tag I love very much so hopefully I did it justice lol!! Anyway, please enjoy!!

He’s young when his dreams start haunting him - barely three years old, tucked into bed by his father. The blanket wrapped around him smells fondly of lavender and cucumber; it’s an odd mix but Noctis often brings the blanket up to his nose, taking in the smell as he closes his eyes. His father always chuckles at this, and in passing he says, “This was your mother’s favorite blanket. Do you think it smells like her?”

Noctis nods, but he doesn’t know. Not really - he never met his mother, after all. How would he know what she smelled like? But he curls into the blanket all the same, a comforting warmth spreading over him as he presses his head against his pillow and drifts to sleep. He always sleeps quickly, his father still seated on the side of his bed. Just as he drifts away, he feels his father’s hand holding his own. It’s big and warm, protective, and it feels nice.

Next thing he knows, he’s surrounded by fire. It licks at his skin, burning and causing pain to rumble through his entire being. The air is stale as it squeezes into his lungs, and his fingers tremble as he reaches forward, fingertips singed by the flames around him.

His throat aches, voice catching in his throat as he calls out, “Mama. Mama, help!” Just beyond the flames, the silhouette of a woman stands there. Her dress fits her frame, and her arms seem to be crossed in front of her chest. He calls out, screaming until his throat can stand the pressure no longer, and still she remains as a statue. Noctis collapses then, little hands pressing against the solid dirt beneath him. Something catches, perhaps a stick of wood, and he feels it press into his skin. It doesn’t matter, because now the statue - his mama - is laughing at him.

It echoes as the flames press against his skin again, and the pain meshes with words that meet his ears, that pierce into his heart and leave his lungs scrambling for the soiled air. His mama laughs and says, “Why would I ever help a son like you?”

When Noctis wakes up, he’s sobbing, little hands grabbing for the large comforter embracing him. It’s warm, hot to the touch, and he flings the blanket away. His room is silent, echoing the cries that leave him as he trembles. He grabs hold of the stuffed animal sitting upon his bed - a bunny, a gift from the Amicitia family when he was born - and knows what he must do. The comfort of the bunny, ear clasped tightly in his shaking hand, gives him the courage he needs to climb down from his bed, running for the door and heading out into the hallways.

The tapping of bare feet hitting the tile echoes through the hallway, but Noctis presses onwards. His stuffed bunny is nearly dragging alongside him. He has a ways to go still, but he’s determined. He sniffles. Tears still fall down his cheeks and when he looks around, at the shadows decorating the walls, he still thinks he sees the fire, and sees the figure looming just beyond. He still smells the smoke as he struggles to pull air into his lungs.

At three, he’s still been taught to knock on someone’s door before entering. He’s also been taught table manners and etiquette, though he doesn’t like those very much. He also ignores any politeness. He finds the doors he’s looking for, large and comforting, and pushes them open without delay.

His father’s room is grand and echoes with the sound of the doors opening. It’s simply decorated with a few bookshelves and a large bed, and Noctis rushes by the shelf containing children’s books, several of his favorites his father used to read to him. Instead, he’s focused on the bed in the middle of the room - on the lump that lies in the middle.

Noctis reaches for the blankets, pulling them up and over his father enough to slide in next to him, pressing his head against his father’s chest as he starts to sob all over again. This time, he’s not quiet, whining against his father as he feels the warmth of his skin against his. It reminds him of fire. He trembles.

“Noctis, dear,” a sleepy voice interrupts his loneliness, “Did you have a nightmare?”

Noctis nods.

“Do you want to tell me what it was about?”

Noctis shakes his head. Instead, he curls into his father’s arms tighter. They’re wrapped around him, pulling Noctis close and now the warmth enveloping him feels calmer, further away from the image of a flame in his head.

He curls into his father, taking a deep breath as he says, “Can you tell me some stories?”

“What sort of stories?” His father hums, and the sound of his steady heartbeat lulls Noctis into a sense of safety. His father is right there, and no one will be able to touch him - no one can hurt him, especially not the fire or the image of his mother.

Noctis shrugs, closing his eyes as he says, “I dunno. A good one?”

His father laughs, the sound echoing deep in his chest and Noctis just climbs tighter. But his father tells him a story anyway; it’s one he’s heard many, many times before, but it’s always his favorite. His father is on the open road in it, young and traveling with a group of his closest friends. Noctis takes a deep breath; maybe one day, when he’s older, he can do that too.

Noctis falls asleep to the sound of his father’s voice, knowing now that nightmares aren’t going to get to him so easily.

//////

But throughout his life, as he grows older, they continue to make their way into his mind. They’re even worse once he’s eight, reeling from the Marilith that tore into his back and settled deep into his mind. His father doesn’t leave his side until he has to, until Noctis leaves for Tenebrae. It keeps the nightmares at bay for a while, and when they do find themselves appearing, his father clasps tightly onto his hand and they manage to pull themselves away.

Luna is all right - she’s calm, and overwhelmingly kind, but it does nothing to keep the nightmares away. They burn through his spine. He wakes with tears streaming down his cheeks, clenching onto the blankets that cover him. The daemon won’t reach him here. There’s no way it could - but now, with his back aching terribly, as though its blades has torn through him anew, nowhere feels safe.

He clenches his stuffed bunny tightly in his hands. Noctis even leans over and grabs hold of the wooden statue. Carbuncle. It had been a gift from his father after the attack, after the nightmares became even worse. “Hold onto it, and know that I am also with you,” his father had said. Noctis holds onto it tightly.

Even when his father rescues him as Tenebrae falls, clenched tightly in his father’s arms, the nightmares don’t cease. And several nights a week, he drifts into his father’s room. His father doesn’t seem to mind.

As Noctis grows older, even into a teenager and juggling final exams with upcoming political meetings, Noctis is ushered into the living world by nightmares. He sees his mother. He sees daemons. Eventually, he sees his father turning to ash before him, disintegrating and leaving him alone. The world seems too cold, too cruel without him.

Embarking into adulthood, Noctis still seeks out his father when his nightmares grow too much to bear. When they leave him trembling, leave him with tracks of tears streaming from his eyes, his feet follow the familiar steps to his father’s room. Of course, nearly an adult, he doesn’t crawl into his father’s bed to let his father chase away the nightmares. His father doesn’t sleep much of late, either. Their nights ebb into the morning amongst conversation. Noctis talks about what’s happening at school, even if his father has heard it all before. His father tells stories from when he was Noctis’s age, even though Noctis has heard it all before. It’s calming. His breathing evens out, the air feels clearer around him. His heart stops rapidly hammering against his chest, desperately trying to claw its way out. He feels relaxed, and even if he doesn’t sleep the rest of the night, he feels better.

And he knows his father will always be able to calm the nightmares that lurk in his mind.

/////

Galdin Quay is sweltering, but Noctis feels cold. He shivers, ice settling into his lungs, and pulling his legs down into the ground. He walks behind the others, slower, and no one says a word. Prompto marches on ahead, Ignis a fair bit behind him. Gladio stays the furthest behind, but he’s still a fair amount ahead of Noctis, as well. No one knows what to say - there probably isn’t anything another person could say to help him. 

He closes his eyes and sees his father’s face - wrinkles pressed against his face, hair graying, but eyes firm as he sent Noctis on his journey. His hand trembles.

“Perhaps it would be best if we stayed another night here,” Ignis finally says, looking towards the hotel as he sighs, “It’s expensive, but we need to be fully prepared to continue on.”

Prompto is quick to yell, “Big, comfy beds, here we come!” He laughs, but it sounds stilted, and Noctis knows he’s at least trying. But his eyelids feel weighed down, heavy, and his hands are full of sand. His mind keeps replaying the sound from the radio over and over - His Highness, king Regis, has been found dead in this siege of Insomnia. Niflheim has taken over and -

“Noct,” Gladio’s rough voice pulls him away from the sound of the radio, “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t know what else to say - of course he’s really not - so instead, he just nods his head. With his agreement, the decision seems to be final, and Ignis sets about arranging for a room for one more night.

Gladio shrugs, “I suppose from here on out we’re going to be camping.”

“No,” Prompto groans loudly, “I can only take so much time with nature. The bugs are going to eat me alive.”

“At least they won’t starve, but we will if we keep staying at hotels,” Gladio retorts. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, but he’s smiling. At least they can joke around, Noctis thinks to himself.

He doesn’t feel much like talking, so instead he listens as they grab a quick bite to eat. The sun is setting against the ocean, and Noctis finds himself staring at the reflection of light against the waves while Prompto talks to Ignis. He’s talking about their next steps, but of course, Ignis knows where to go as much as the next person. They know nothing. Noctis knows nothing.

When they check into their room, they’re still fairly quiet. Ignis keeps glancing back towards him - after all, he barely touched his dinner. The sun has long since set into the ocean, and twinkling stars greet them outside their window.

He lays on one of the large beds in the room, pulling the blankets over his head. Noctis can shut out the world better this way. Prompto and Gladio are talking just beyond hun, but he ignores them. His eyes are closed, blankets tightly clasped in his hands.

Maybe he can find some extra sleep, he thinks. It’s been tough to lately. When he closes his eyes, he sees Insomnia lit aflame, sees the corpse of his father sprawled about on the throne.

Tonight is no exception. He’s running through the hallways of the Citadel in his dream. Fire laps at the building around him, and his skin aches with the burn the flame leaves behind. Ash pulls into his lungs, making his body feel heavy as he pushes onwards. The sounds of fighting and of structures collapse strike his ears, and he winces. But it doesn’t matter - he has to get to his father.

When he arrives at the throne room, he drops to his knees, the pain rushing through his body minimal compared to what he sees. His father, lying bloody upon the ground, is disappearing before him. Noctis rushes to him, calling for his dad, but there’s no response. He’s not breathing. Unmoving.

Noctis leans forward to grab hold of his father, but as his fingers rest upon his dad's shoulder, his body falls apart like dust, settling between his fingers. He screams, his father’s name on his tongue as he tries to keep the pieces of his father together. But in the end, everything falls apart. His voice doesn’t even sound like it belongs to him, loud and yelling into the night, lost by the fire -

“Noctis!” 

When he’s pulled from his dream, he feels a warm hand on his shoulder. It burns like fire, and he pulls himself away quickly, curling into himself for just a few moments. He’s breathing heavily. His heart is racing. The scenery of the hotel room drifts back into view, and he sees Gladio sitting on a nearby chair, eyebrows furrowed and expression grim.

Noctis finally sits up, looking around at his companions. Ignis is closest to him, hand hovering just above his shoulder - as though he wants to hold onto him, but something is holding him back. Noctis imagines his own shoulder falling apart, scattering into dust.

His hands tremble. Prompto, seated at the edge of the bed, calls out, “Must’ve been a pretty bad nightmare. You were screaming in your sleep. Are you okay now?”

They all look exhausted - dressed in comfortable clothing, sleep tugging at the corners of their eyes, and a stone begins to settle in the pit of Noctis’s stomach. He woke them up; he’s keeping them all awake. He’s not okay, not really, but he nods anyway.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” His throat feels like sandpaper, scratchy and dry. His friends look at him hesitantly, but they shrug and return to bed. Prompto slides in next to him, heavy breath falling almost as soon as his head meets the pillow. Noctis knows Gladio and Ignis will fall asleep soon after.

Noctis can’t. He closes his eyes, even just to blink, and he sees his father’s body lying upon the ground. He sees lifeless eyes, rivers of blood, and he feels a scream trembling in his throat. His hands shake, and he grips onto the blanket.

For a moment, he wishes he were back home - in an alternate world, where Insomnia never had a chance of falling, where his father wasn’t dead. This is where he would tiptoe down the hallway into his father’s room, where they could talk and where Noctis could forget about the fears and worries that drift into his mind.

Instead, he stays still. Instead, he watches the stars in the sky. He watches the moon as it begins to fade into the daytime, the morning sun casting shadows into their hotel room.

He can’t sleep - perhaps the next night will be better. Perhaps then these nightmares will stop. Noctis grips onto the blankets, fingers shaking. The next evening will be better.

 

They’re at least in a different location, Prompto complaining all the while. The campsite is damp from earlier rain, but Gladio sets about getting the tent ready. Prompto decides to help get Ignis’s kitchen materials ready for dinner, and Noctis feels his legs turned to lead, so he just stands in the middle.

A hand comes up to his shoulder, causing him to jump. The hand is gentle, but it scares him anyway. Ignis always has a way of being careful.

“Noct,” Ignis says quietly, “How are you feeling?”

Noctis shrugs, “Tired, I guess.”

“Perhaps the change of scenery will help with your nightmares.” And Noctis wants to agree, he really does, so he nods his head. But he knows better to believe it to be true. The change of location doesn’t change the fact that his father is dead, or that he no longer has a place to call home. It doesn’t change the fact that he can’t go and talk to his father about things that gnaw at him, about the fears that stifle his thoughts at night.

And just as he expects, he wakes up in the middle of the night, shuddering as a nightmare fades from his line of sight. His father is dead in it, again, and this time he had the opportunity to watch his death. In this dream, the marilith made its return, its claws digging into his father’s stomach. He hears his father cry out in anguish, and though he had run towards him, his body had gone straight through. And when his father finally passed, he had thought he was alone, even though Noctis was right there.

The next night proves to be the same - Noctis waking up in the middle of the night, skin covered in cold sweat, lungs desperately clawing to get air, hands shaking as he pulls himself out from the sleeping bag. His companions have started to sleep heavily and for that, he lets out a relieved sigh. This is his opportunity to sit at the edge of the campsite, legs dangling from the ledge, and peer up into the stars.

Noctis tries his best to imagine his father sitting here next to him. He imagines the kinds of conversations they’d have - his father would likely try and talk to him about upcoming council meetings. Noctis never really took any of those seriously, only skimming through the notes Ignis would hand to him. But Noctis would just laugh it off in the evening, and somehow, his father would be laughing, too. The wind gently blows against him, and he hears his father’s laugh between wisps of air. It feels so much colder now.

When the sun rises, Ignis comes out from the tent. Noctis just gives him a sad smile and their conversation ends before it can begin. He doesn’t want to say anything, anyway.

They continue on, resting at camps and caravans when they can afford it in search of the Royal Arms. And still, night after night, Noctis awakes with tremors rushing through his system. He awakens in fear. He awakens feeling exhausted. Noctis lags behind the others, footsteps just a second or so behind, but it’s enough to count. It’s enough for the others to notice, but they still don’t say anything. Noctis is grateful.

When they make camp again in the evening, Noctis is the first to speak. His words are shaky, and his heart races, but he asks, “How about I take the first watch tonight?”

“No,” Gladio quickly replies, “You’re already looking like you could collapse. You need rest.”

Noctis shakes his head, “If I get my shift over with, then I could sleep until morning. That might be better, right?”

Gladio doesn’t reply right away, instead turning his gaze towards Ignis. Prompto follows suit, eyes hesitantly looking between the prince and his most trusted advisor.

“I suppose,” Ignis relents, “But first, you must eat. You haven’t been finishing your meals lately.”

Noctis doesn’t say anything. It’s true, but he finds he really doesn’t have an appetite anymore. And then when he does, he eats a few spoonfuls of whatever Ignis has created and decides that’s enough. He manages a few more bites of food today, if only to see the look of relief that crosses Ignis’s face when he says he’s full.

The others settle into the tent, Prompto calling out, “Make sure to wake me for my shift!” 

After that, Noctis is thrust into silence again, only the sounds of nature to wrap around him and keep him company. He folds in on himself, bringing his knees up to his chest as he sits by the warm, intimidating fire. If he stares into it too long, he sees the images of his mother and father, bodies crumbling and decomposing, staring back at him.

He makes up his mind then - every time he closes his eyes to go to sleep, he sees every single painful moment that bounces around in his mind. And he can’t talk about these fears and images with his friends; he can’t burden them more than he already has.

Everyone’s on this journey, everyone’s without a home. They all lived in Insomnia together, after all. They’re all dealing with the loss of their homes, the loss of their loved ones, the questions about the future that circulates through the air. Noctis can tell - even if they’ve painted a mask to show otherwise, especially Ignis. He can’t make them worry any more. The way they look at him in the morning, after a nightmare, he can’t stand it.

Noctis lets out a little chuckle. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt him that much to skip sleep. After all, he doesn’t get much of it anyway. His body wakes him up with nightmares every single night, skin aching and body feeling foreign. He blinks and he sees his father, and he doesn’t want to see the expression of pity from the last friends he has on the planet.

If he doesn’t sleep anymore, all his problems can be solved. He can go back to normal, take charge and figure out where they need to go next. They’ll all be happier for it. Noctis can do this, he tells himself. He just can’t let his eyes close.

It’ll be the end of all his nightmares.

 

In the morning, when Ignis awakens, he seems surprised to see Noctis already awake. However, he always keeps an air of composure. His hands come up to his glasses, pushing them higher up along the bridge of his nose as he says, “This is unusual. You’re up early.”

“Fell asleep on the watch,” Noctis lies, “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Ignis looks at him, eyes piercing, and Noctis looks away from his gaze. The fire has long since been extinguished - Noctis put it out soon after he started the watch - but everything feels warm again. He waits until his friend stops looking at him and moves to make a simple breakfast.

He goes through the same question when Gladio and Prompto wake up. Prompto even laughs, “Well, at least no one found our camp! These havens are pretty safe, after all.”

“But you never know,” Gladio huffs, “Niffs could easily find us here, and they don’t care about a place being a haven or not. Be more careful next time, Noct.”

Noctis agrees to be. After all, he’s going to keep them safe - he’ll stay awake all night, however long it takes, until he stops thinking about what could happen down the road.

 

The next night is harder. The flame is louder, warmer as it breathes against his skin. His eyelids feel heavy, his body aches from the climbing they’ve done, but he cannot allow himself a moment of rest. He doesn’t want to deal with it - doesn’t want to see his father, lying dead.

His eyes are slow to blink, and he thinks he must have dozed off because now he’s surrounded by flames and screams. His heart hammers against his ribcage and his breaths are suffocating him, quick and short. Noctis calls out for his friends, because they have to be around here somewhere, don’t they?

Noctis takes a few steps before he hears a loud crashing sound close by. He braces for impact, using his hands to cover his head as the wall in front of him collapses inward, sending rubble and debris spiraling into the air.

Dust fills his lungs and he coughs, stepping forward through the mess. As he continues to get closer, he sees a body lying in the rubble. There’s blood everywhere, too much for a person to live without, and Noctis feels his stomach clench, a heavy stone weighing him down. It’s morbid curiosity that keeps him moving forward now, and as he gets closer, he sees a familiar head of blond hair, covered in ash and rubble and caked in dried blood.

Prompto lies beneath the fallen building, eyes wide and lifeless. Noctis screams.

He jolts awake then, sweating and pulling in breath desperately, as though there’s little left of it in the world. The moon is still high in the sky. His friends still sleep in the tent, or at least, he’s hoping they are. There’s no movement, not rustling. At least he hadn’t screamed this time, Noctis sighs.

Taking a look at his phone, only an hour had passed. He shudders; if he kept sleeping, he’s certain he would’ve seen Gladio and Ignis, too. And Noctis just can’t handle that.

Whatever it takes, he has to stay awake. There’s no point in sleeping, not when he sees everyone he loves dead. It’s too much for him to take.

/////

Days pass - Noctis loses track of time. All he knows is the sun goes up, down, then back up again. They move from place to place, taking on hunts and dealing with Niflheim soldiers that find them in the dense forests or amongst the heavy sands. Noctis fights with the others, short sword clasped tightly in his hand. He can’t stop the tremors that run through his body now, just like he can’t force himself to move quicker.

After a battle with voretooths, Gladio yells at him, “Noct, pull yourself together!”

Noctis flinches back, eyes lingering on the cut on Gladio’s arm. It’s shallow, but blood spills down to his hand nonetheless. His stomach twists and churns and he chokes out a quiet, “Sorry.”

“Noct, you’re not quite yourself on the battlefield,” Ignis says, handing a potion to Gladio as he leans closer to look at the prince. Noctis avoids his gaze, looking down at the grass beneath his feet. Ignis just sighs, “You look exhausted. Is there something we can do?”

“I’m fine,” Noctis replies, continuing to move to their next destination. His feet feel heavy, his muscles robotic and tight. He hears Ignis sigh behind him, and he feels Prompto’s arm wrap around his shoulder.

He turns to look at the blond and for just a moment, he blinks, and suddenly his friend is covered in blood and dust. He sees lifeless eyes, and he flinches and pulls away.

Prompto stumbles, but says without missing a beat, “You must be real tired, man. Maybe I’ll take the first watch at camp tonight?”

Noctis shakes his head, “I’ll be fine. I think I just overdid the magic in our fight. Let’s keep going.” He forces himself to walk quicker, push further ahead. He doesn’t want to see or hear their reactions.

Prompto just sighs and turns to Ignis and mumbles, “But he didn’t even use magic. He didn’t even warp. Actually, he didn’t do much of anything, he was too slow,”

Ignis just listens, but his eyes are focused on Noctis’s back, on how his shoulders have slumped, and how he seems to be dragging himself to the next destination.

Noctis doesn’t look back. He can’t afford to, not when he knows how disappointed they are. He’s disappointed too.

/////

Things become too much not long after that. Noctis counts two sunrises, and for a moment, he even sees two suns. But then he blinks, slowly but not too much, and everything returns to normal.

They’re not far from their next destination, Ignis says. But all the scenery looks the same - it’s all yellowed grass, heavy sand, and the sweltering heat bearing down on them. Noctis is sweating, breaths leaving his lips in heavy bursts. Everything aches and when he blinks, he thinks of how nice it out be to finally close his eyes and let himself fall into darkness for just a little bit.

“It’s so quiet,” Prompto comments, pulling Noctis from his thoughts, “You’d think we’d have soldiers or something dropping down on our heads by now,”

Gladio groans, “Don’t say that. You’ll summon them if you do.”

Prompto just laughs, but there’s a rustling against the grass and nearby bushes that has the smile pulled from his face. Noctis turns to face the direction of the noise, reaching into the armiger for his sword, but he’s not fast enough. A flash of color, wind pressing against his face. Something warm pushes against him. He falls. His head hits the ground and he groans, the monster above him growling. Fangs press against his shoulder. 

“Noct!” The weight is lifted from him, a dagger pushing into the sabertusk’s chest. Ignis is by his side, grabbing hold of his hand to help him to his feet. It takes just a second to steady him, and Ignis gives a relieved smile before he rushes to the next enemy. Noctis has every intention of following him, moving forward just a few steps as Ignis continues to battle with another sabertusk.

Instead, the world around him begins to sway. He sees Prompto running for him, calling out, “Noct, are you okay?” Noctis wants to answer him, even opening his mouth to reply, but he finds he doesn’t have a voice anymore. It hurts too much, pulls too much energy from him to pronounce a syllable. It’s too much to even stay standing, and he feels himself sway against the wind.

He doesn’t feel himself hit the ground - the world has already grown dark and has drifted away.

 

/////

When Prompto’s frantic voice reaches him, Ignis feels the world freeze. The remaining two sabertusks don’t matter. The pain from his fingers, from holding his dagger too tightly, doesn’t matter. Instead, he turns and sees Noctis collapse to the ground, the only sound being a thump as he collides with the grass.

Gladio grunts, his sword swinging to knock a sabertusk backwards as he yells, “Prompto, keep him safe! We’ll finish up these pests.”

Prompto sets up next to Noctis, one arm moving back to hold onto him while the other tightly clenches onto his gun. He aims quickly and shoots once, twice, three times for one of the sabertusks charging towards him. It rears back, making a noise like a squeal, before falling to the ground and moving no more. Gladio makes quick work of the remaining enemy, swinging his sword and stabbing into it quickly.

They’re left with silence and an unconscious crown prince. Ignis rushes to his side, getting onto his knees and grabbing him by the shoulders. He presses a finger against his neck - a pulse, and Ignis breathes a sigh of relief.

“What happened?” Ignis asks, turning to Prompto. The blond is shaking, eyes unwavering as he looks at his dear friend.

Prompto replies, “I don’t know. The sabertusks didn’t come anywhere near him. It’s like he moved and then just collapsed.”

Ignis takes a look at Noctis again. His face is pale, circles deep under his eyes. His breathing is steady, and Ignis is at least thankful for that much.

“He’s been acting weird, anyway,” Gladio comments, “Guess everything just caught up to him. There’s a haven not too far from here. Let’s make camp and talk when he wakes up.”

Ignis agrees, and Gladio picks up Noctis, one arm under his knees and the other cradling his shoulders. Ignis helps make sure the prince is held tightly, and Noctis’s head rests on Gladio’s shoulder.

There’s too much to talk about, Ignis agrees. He’s neglected taking care of his charge, but now he’s going to get to the bottom of it all.

 

/////

When Noctis awakens, it’s not from a nightmare. Instead, he returns to the world from pitch darkness. The world is unfocused, but he feels something soft lying beneath him, and it feels unfamiliar. He was fighting with his companions just a minute ago, so why was he laying down?

“You’re awake,” Prompto nearly laughs, joy clearly on his face. Just behind him, Noctis notices the sun is beginning to set, painting the sky with vibrant red-orange hues. It had been daytime, mid-morning, when they encountered those monsters.

Noctis furrows his eyebrows and tries to talk, but just groans. His body aches and his eyelids feel like weights pressed against him. The softness beneath him is the bed they use during camps, and he presses into it a little more, the comfort it’s bringing feeling overwhelming.

Ignis asks, “Do you remember what happened?”

Noctis shakes his head. Ignis has a small smile on his face, but it’s worrying. He doesn’t remove his gaze from Noctis as he says, “You collapses during our fight. You’ve been out since then. How are you feeling?”

Noctis tries to talk again and coughs before he feels like his vocal cords can finally respond. He takes in a deep breath and says honestly, “Tired.”

“About that,” Gladio says, and he’s sitting close by with his arms crossed. He looks unhappy, angry even, and Noctis feels his heartbeat pick up, thrumming ever faster as he continues, “You haven’t been sleeping, have you?”

“Gladio,” Ignis warms, voice quiet.

Gladio shrugs, “We need to ask him sooner or later. Better to get it out now so he can explain himself.”

Prompto groans, but says nothing otherwise. Noctis doesn’t feel much like saying anything either, but they’re all staring at him. Their gazes feel like they’re burning his skin, causing his stomach to churn and guilt to settle deep inside of him.

“I haven’t slept,” Noctis says honestly. His voice is quiet, but they hear him nonetheless. They don’t say anything for a moment, and Gladio raises his eyebrow. He’s expecting him to continue, but Noctis doesn’t say anything else.

Instead, it’s Prompto who asks, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

There’s silence again, and for just a second, Noctis wonders if he waits long enough, maybe they’ll just give up and stop questioning him. He almost laughs; there’s no way that would happen. He got himself into this situation, so he needs to figure out a way to get out of it.

He looks at their expressions and the guilt only feels heavier; Gladio always looks a little angry, but his shoulders are slumped. Ignis is biting his lower lip, blanket and bed between his fingers as he smooths out the wrinkles beneath him. Prompto’s hands are shaking, and he keeps fidgeting - Noctis knows him well enough to know that’s what he does right before he finds out the results of exams, or photography contests.

So he decides to talk. Noctis says, “I just . . . ever since I found out about my dad, I’ve had nightmares every night. They’re . . . I just, I don’t know how to handle them. It was easier to stop sleeping than spend every night terrified. And just, without my dad, they’re hard to handle.”

“I do recall your routine of seeking out your father when you had nightmares,” Ignis comments, hand running through Noctis’s hair. The movement is soothing, and Noctis feels his eyes closing at the repetitive motion.

Noctis hums, “He always helped when they felt like too much. But my nightmares now are of him dying. And then, well, I started seeing nightmares where you all died. And you have so much to worry about. I don’t need to add to it.”

“But Noct,” Prompto says, “We’re your friends. You can come to us. We can help. I know we can’t help a lot, but anything to try to help you.”

Prompto comes closer to him then, wrapping his arms around Noctis’s shoulders and embracing him tightly. This time, the warmth from someone else feels soothing, and Noctis melts into the touch. His breath leaves in shaky bursts, and he presses his face against Prompto’s shoulder, hoping he won’t say anything about the extra moisture on his skin.

“You need to sleep tonight,” Gladio says with a tone of finality. Noctis finds it in himself to agree, nodding his head against Prompto. He feels the blond shake with a chuckle.

Ignis announces, “I think I’ll make some dinner. Would you like some warm tea, Noct? That can help you feel ready for sleep.”

Noctis nods his head and when dinner is ready, he only manages to eat a little more than he did before. His arm feels heavy, the fork in his hand extra painful. He brings the mug with tea, warm and soothing, to his lips and drinks only a little before he sets it back down.

When everyone else has finished, they settle into the tent - all four of them. Noctis nearly collapses again, pressing himself into the blanket beneath him. He hears Prompto laugh as he nearly dives in next to him, wrapping his arms around Noctis’s waist as he says, “There. Now we’re comfortable.”

Ignis lies down on the other side of Noctis, running his hands through the prince’s hair again. Noctis closes his eyes as Gladio finally lays down, too. The warmth isn’t like a fire - not overwhelming, not burning, but comforting, like a protective blanket pulled over him.

“If there’s any nightmares, you can wake us up,” Ignis says, “We can talk you through it and help you get back to sleep.”

Noctis nods, but he already feels himself drifting off to sleep, so he brings his arm to rest under his head and mumbles a small, “Thank you.”

And for the first time in so long, Noctis sleeps.


End file.
